


Pack of Potter

by dragyn42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23126419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragyn42/pseuds/dragyn42
Summary: Harry Potter has a habit of keeping anything that he thinks may, somehow, be useful.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Pack of Potter

**Author's Note:**

> So, this whole thing started with a picture in my head and then wondering how they got there. Also, there’s usually a sentence or two in each scene from the books to place context, obviously these do not belong to me. Thanks to my pre and beta readers for your invaluable help.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

“What’s this, Hermione?” Harry asked, looking at the sturdy, leather rucksack in his hands. It was worn, scratches and scuffs marring its surface, and the padded straps appeared to have been reattached recently with a very sturdy thread. The latch that held the top flap down had seen better days, and the cord that pulled the bag closed was clearly not original. But still, the bag was overall in excellent condition.

“I noticed you liked picking things up. Useful things, useless things, whatever. So I thought this might be practical. I had some of the professors’ help with some of it, they seemed fairly happy to assist when I told them what it was for,” she explained.

“Okay. So… it’s more than just a backpack?”

“Oh! Sorry, yes. If you open the top, you’ll see two dividers inside.”

Harry followed her directions, and sure enough, inside were two, thick, leather panels dividing the interior into three sections. Despite the fact that there was no, visible difference in the three compartments, something about each of them looked vastly different.

“So, that back one,” she began to explain, pointing past him, “that will hold your books. I’ve tested it and it will hold more than it looks, maybe ten or so, and they shouldn’t add too significantly to the weight.

“That middle section isn’t very deep, but will hold, and protect, your everyday items: quills, ink, probably even a cloak if you fold it well enough. I, uh… I tested it by putting several pots of ink in there and throwing the pack down the stairs. When I checked it again, they were undisturbed.”

Harry was staring admiringly into the pack, smiling.

“That front space, that’s the one that really gave me the idea. I read about it in the library, and though the professors said I’m not ready to learn it, yet, they helped apply an Undetectable Extension Charm. It should hold most of the random stuff you pick up. It’s not bottomless, so you’ll still need your trunk, but you get the idea. The bag is fairly resistant, so it should last a long while. Even the stitching has been re-enforced. And now that you’ve touched it, that latch will only respond to you. Just… just don’t abuse it. Each of the professors that helped me made that clear. If you abuse the bag, they’re taking it away.”

Harry’s sight was blurring, despite still wearing his glasses.

“It’s… it’s amazing, Hermione! I… I… Thank you!” he cried out, dropping the bag and hugging his friend.

“I don’t want to pry, you know. I know your home life isn’t great. And I can understand wanting to keep stuff with you. Honestly, so did the professors when I mentioned it. They all understand, and wanted to help the son of fallen friends of theirs. So, it’s kind of from all of us. The spell work is theirs, and the bag was an old one from primary I had my mom fix up and send. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?! It’s the best thing ever,” he answered fervently. “It’s just, I don’t have anything like it to give you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. This is what friends are for. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

~*~

“Harry – oh, Harry – I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy – it was me, Harry – but I – I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to – R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over – and – how did you kill that – that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary –”

“It’s all right,” said Harry, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, “Riddle’s finished. Look! Him and the basilisk.”

Eventually, they stood up and started to look around. Harry limped over and grabbed his bag that he had dropped when he had seen Ginny. He was rarely seen without his bag nearby.

He opened the top and dropped in the Sword of Gryffindor and the Sorting Hat. He pulled out a spare bit of cloth and wrapped up the still slightly inky diary and fang and dropped them in as well. He then wandered over to the corpse of the Basilisk.

“Harry?” asked Ginny.

“I dunno,” said Harry, intuitively understanding her question. “Just seems… a waste. I mean, yeah, it tried to kill all of us, but still...”

He stared at the snake a bit longer before starting to poke at it with his fingers.

“Harry!” cried out Ginny, a bit more exasperated. “Shouldn’t we be getting out of here?”

“We will.”

Ginny wandered over to him and stared at the monstrosity. “I almost killed people with it, I don’t think I want to think of this anymore.”

“No, Tom almost killed people. Including you. And me. Might as well take his stuff, yeah?”

“Hmmm,” was her only response.

Harry then grabbed one of the giant fangs and began to use his entire body weight to wiggle it. It didn’t move much at first, but then its motion became more pronounced, and eventually, it came free of the socket fairly cleanly. Harry looked at it for a few moments, turning it over in his hands, and then dropped it in his bag before reaching for another. By the time he decided he was done, he had removed three teeth out of the great snake’s mouth, not including the one wrapped up. The smaller teeth just seemed a bit too dangerous to grab, he didn’t want to risk slipping and poisoning himself again.

“So, uh, yeah. I guess we should get back to your brother. Maybe help Lockhart, too, I’m still deciding.”

~*~

Dumbledore reached across to Professor McGonagall's desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword, and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

“Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry,” said Dumbledore simply.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonagall's desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink. As he did so, Harry admired the sword in his hands. Everyone was then distracted by a rather frustrating encounter with Lucius Malfoy when he stormed into the office uninvited, threatened everyone, somehow still came off on the losing end with Dumbledore, and then stormed back out. However, when the man barged into the office, Harry had a brief moment of irrational panic at being seen with the sword and got rid of it by dropping it into his bag.

Afterward, though, was when he finally put it all together and realized that he could free Dobby.

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?”

Harry dashed out of the office, reaching into his bag as he did so, and pulling out a clean, spare sock. He quickly stuffed the sock in between the pages of the sodden diary and called out to Mr. Malfoy. Events played out as planned, with perhaps some extra threats from Mr. Malfoy, and Dobby was accidentally freed. Although, what wasn’t planned was Mr. Malfoy pulling his wand on Harry and Dobby blasting his former master down the hallway.

During the subsequent conversation with Dobby, in which the elf was appropriately contrite and apologetic, Harry noticed the diary on the floor where Mr. Malfoy had obviously dropped it in flight, and not knowing what else to do with it before the feast, but not wanting to leave it out in case there was the chance it might still be dangerous, he dropped it into his bag.

~*~

Slowly, Hermione reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of Harry’s faithful, finally beaten broomstick.

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend. He didn’t argue or complain, but he wouldn’t let her throw away the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand. He knew he was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but Harry couldn’t help it; he felt as though he’d lost one of his best friends. He spent hours, time between his friends’ visits, staring at the wooden remains, before finally accepting that it was gone.

It was during a visit from Ginny Weasley, who was blushing furiously, with a get well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly, that Harry asked her to grab his bag. His friends, knowing he never liked to be far from the gift, had stowed it under his bed. She placed the bag in his lap and watched avidly as he opened it and reached in, rummaging around a bit. There was the sound of several things falling over, before he finally pulled out, what appeared to be, a burlap sack.

“Really, Harry?” she asked, her embarrassment fading in her curiosity. “You keep a bag inside your bag?”

“Well, er...” he said. He opened the sack and pulled the bottom over the top, a small Pocket Sneakoscope tumbling out. “The sack seemed better, and cleaner, than Uncle Vernon’s socks. But, it hasn’t really gone off since the whole Wormtail thing, so I don’t think I need to keep it all muffled up. And Hermione took the other bag she brought the Nimbus in.”

He carefully, almost reverently, placed all the pieces of his precious broom inside of it. One of the twigs, however, was clearly not of his broom – it was as thick as his broom handle and barked all over. He held it up to Ginny and lifted an eyebrow.

“I’d guess it’s a branch of the Whomping Willow. Probably no one noticed it wasn’t the broom. They were too busy trying to not get hit while gathering what they could,” said Ginny.

Harry shook the branch a bit, and the both noticed as it wiggled, waving around more than a branch of its thickness had a right to, seemingly of its own accord. He left the once-again still branch on his bed sheets, and then knotted the loose material at the top of the sack to close it. Grabbing the branch, and the Sneakoscope, he dropped all of the stuff into his bag.

“Why are you keeping it, Harry?” asked Ginny.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve accepted that it’s gone, but I’m not really ready to just let it go, yet. I mean, it was the first magical _thing_ that was mine – other than my wand, but everyone has one of those.”

Ginny nodded. “I get it. I have six brothers. Lots and lots of my stuff was handed down. But I’m a girl, so there are things that I need that I obviously can’t get from them. Those things, they were mine.”

Harry nodded, staring blankly into the bag before he looked up at Ginny, who blushed once again, and he smiled.

“Thanks, Ginny,” he said.

“An… Anytime,” she stuttered, attempting a smile of her own.

~*~

At one point, just after Kreacher attempted to smuggle yet more items out of the room, and Sirius had him held up against the wall by his leathery, green, little neck, it was Ginny who intervened. She looked at the pitiful, flailing elf and then over at Harry, next to his pack up against the wall, himself looking at the pile of stuff the elf had been caught with.

“Sirius?” she asked, interrupted his tirade. “Do you think there’s a reason he keeps taking things?”

“He’s obsessed, he is. With all my pureblooded ‘relatives’. He was most devoted to my mother, but my father and brother were up there on the list.”

Near the end of his explanation, the elf began to cry.

“Last week I caught him snogging a pair of my father’s old trousers,” continued Sirius.

“But are you sure there isn’t another reason?” asked Ginny again. “Kreacher, why are you trying to keep us from getting rid of this stuff?”

“Kreacher will not tell the filthy blood traitor. Oh no. Traitors and filthy blood would not understan- urkh!” he grumbled, before Sirius’ hand cut him off.

“Kreacher!” yelled Sirius, hate filling his voice.

“Sirius!” yelled Hermione in response. “Let him breathe!”

At her demand, Sirius actually released Kreacher, who now sat on the floor, wheezing and gasping.

“Kreacher,” said Hermione, gently, “please, we don’t want to take this stuff away from you if it means something. Why do you need to keep it?”

At that, Kreacher broke down in tears. “Kreacher has failed. Master Regulus’s locket. Kreacher did wrong. Kreacher failed in his orders!”

Sirius, his eyes open in shock, seemed to know what was going to happen before Kreacher even moved. At the same instance that Kreacher jumped up, forward, Sirius’ arm shot out into the elf’s chest, pinning him once more against the wall.

“Do not punish yourself,” he snarled. “That’s an order!”

Kreacher crumbled at the command, Sirius’ hand the only thing holding him upright.

“What are you on about, you damnable elf?” asked his reluctant master.

What followed, between racking sobs, was the most unbelievable story. Sirius’ brother, Regulus, had joined the Death Eaters, proud to lead wizards to the fore over muggles. A year later, Regulus had come to Kreacher to serve the Dark Lord. Kreacher told the story of cave, and a basin of vile potion, of dead hands from the water, (“Inferi,” hissed Sirius,) and of being summoned back home.

When Regulus asked Kreacher to tell him what happened, he had been worried. And, several nights later, he came to Kreacher to take him to the cave. Regulus had drunk the poison himself, and left to Kreacher an identical locket to switch out with the one in the basin. Unfortunately, the Inferi had taken Regulus, dragging him to his death, and leaving Kreacher only with instructions to destroy the locket.

He had failed. He couldn’t destroy the locket, nor could he tell his family.

Sirius had fallen backwards, sitting on the floor, staring at his elf in astonishment. It was clear to Harry that there was so much more going on with that story.

“Reg… He turned on the Dark Lord?” Sirius said, trying to convince himself.

But Kreacher took it as a straight question and tried to answer his current master, “Master Regulus was worried about the locket, worried about what the Dark Lord had done.”

“What did Voldemort do, Kreacher? What was Regulus worried about?” asked Hermione.

“The mudblood has no righ...” but Kreacher was cut off again, this time by a much less angry Sirius.

“Kreacher, you are not to use that word,” he said. “Regulus wouldn’t want you to use that word.”

Kreacher stared at Sirius, his bulbous eyes wide and doubtful. The House of Black were forever followers of the old ways.

“He turned on Voldemort, Kreacher,” said Sirius. “If what you say is true, he turned on the old ways. He didn’t tell you so that my mother wouldn’t suspect you. You had to keep following her for your own safety, for the safety of your secret.”

“Master Regulus...” stuttered Kreacher.

“…Would want you to answer Hermione,” said Sirius.

The elf turned his gaze onto Harry, then Ginny, and finally Hermione. “Master Regulus did not tell Kreacher what the locket was, Miss,” said Kreacher.

“We need to keep it safe,” said Ginny.

~*~

They would be leaving in only a couple days, but they still had something to figure out. This day found all those who knew of the locket alone, in an out of the way room. They didn’t want many of the other residents and visitors to hear their discussion.

“We could keep it here,” said Ron. “This place is supposed to be the safest place around with the Order and all that.”

“No,” said Ginny right away, before Ron even finished. “I don’t trust Mum. She would throw it out for being dark if anyone even accidentally hinted Tom had anything to do with it.”

“The Dung man would also take it,” muttered Kreacher.

“That’s… something for later,” said Sirius. “But what about Albus? We could tell Professor Dumbledore.”

“I…” start Harry, not quite sure what to say. “I’m not sure I trust him right now.”

This statement caused everyone to stare at him.

“Why not?” asked Ginny.

“He refuses to talk to me. He tells me to trust him, even as everything goes wrong around me, and won’t talk to me,” explained Harry.

“I see it,” said Ginny.

“What?!” asked Hermione. “The headmaster defended you! There’s no reason not to trust him!”

“I think I have to agree with these two,” said Sirius. “I trust the man to run a school. I trust him to fight Voldemort. He’s been doing it for a long time. But, and I’m reluctant to say this, he’s not given me much reason to trust his other choices of late. He keeps going for results, and forgets we’re people. It’s… well, I see where Harry is coming from.”

Hermione was about to go off again, but Ron cut her off, “So, if we can’t keep it in the house, and can’t tell Dumbledore, what should we do with it?”

They each looked at each other, spending a minute or so each trying to think of something.

“What about a vault?” asked Ron.

“Even Dumbledore didn’t trust the vaults. Remember the Philosopher’s Stone?” Harry reminded him.

“Well… what about Harry’s bag?” asked Ginny, picking up the locket from Kreacher’s grip.

“What?” asked Harry, surprised. “How is that safe?”

“Harry, you always have it on you. Someone would have to come to Hogwarts and get it away from you,” said Hermione. Meanwhile Ginny leaned over toward Harry, and his bag, and reached out to it. “Even if they did, it’s relatively impervious, for the most part. And, you’re the only one who can open it.”

At that exact moment, however, Ginny was holding the locket over the now open bag and was staring at Hermione in shock.

“What?” she asked, baffled, never having been aware of the spells that bound to the lock Harry alone.

The rest of the room was likewise staring at her. Kreacher was squinting, as much as a house elf could squint, and gave a slight nod. Meanwhile, Hermione looked aghast at the bag, as if she had been betrayed. Sirius, on the other hand, was studying Harry, who was looking at Ginny less with surprise and more with curiosity.

“Hold up, Ginny,” said Sirius. “I want to see something. Close the bag.”

Ginny did so.

“Hermione, open the bag,” instructed Sirius.

Hermione attempted to open the bag, only to find the latch remained immobile to her. Ron found the same at Sirius’ command, and even Kreacher was incapable of opening it. However, the bag still opened without a single issue for Harry.

“Interesting, indeed,” said Sirius. “What spell is it?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” said Hermione. “Professor Flitwick cast it. He said it was a special locking charm with a twist.”

“Hmm,” said Sirius contemplatively. “That’s something else we’ll look into later. In the meantime, Ginny, I think you’re right. The bag is a perfect place for now, unless and until we find something better.”

Ginny hesitantly went to open the bag, and appeared confused when it opened just as easily for her, again, as it did for Harry. But, with the bag now open, she dropped the golden locket into the front pocket.

What followed was the most bizarre thing she had ever heard, much less from a backpack. First, it sounded like something fell over, making a serious racket. (“That happens occasionally,” said Harry, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.) Then a metallic, tinny sort of siren sounded, (“Is that the Sneakoscope?” asked Hermione, who said at Harry’s confirming nod, “It seems to have gotten louder.”) Next came, a series of fast, irregular thumps, followed immediately after by an almost hissing sound. (“What the?!” cried Ron, while Hermione asked, “Why does it sound like something beating a cat? What do you have in there, Harry?!”)

And then the bag was quiet. Harry, curious, reached in the whole way to his shoulder, and pulled the locket back out. Dangling from his fingers, it appeared no different than when it had gone in. Shrugging, he dropped it back in, though this time, it was a silent affair.

~*~

“Harry, I’m begging you, please!” said Hermione desperately. “Please let’s just check that Sirius isn’t at home before we go charging off to London. If we find out he’s not there, then I swear I won’t try to stop you. I’ll come, I’ll d – do whatever it takes to try and save him.”

“Sirius is being tortured NOW!” shouted Harry. “We haven’t got time to waste.”

“But if this is a trick of Voldemort’s, Harry, we’ve got to check, we’ve got to.”

“How?” Harry demanded. “How’re we going to check?”

“What was it Sirius gave you, Harry?” asked Ginny.

“What?” he barked at her.

“Harry!” Ginny snapped right back at him. “We’re trying to help and you’re not listening!”

He glared at her in response, but didn’t say anything else.

“At Christmas. Sirius gave you something – in case you needed it? In case of Snape, right?”

“ _I want you to take this,” he said quietly, thrusting a badly wrapped package roughly the size of a paperback book into Harry's hands._

“ _What is it?” Harry asked._

“ _A way of letting me know if Snape’s giving you a hard time. No, don’t open it in here!” said Sirius, with a wary look at Mrs. Weasley, who was trying to persuade the twins to wear hand-knitted mittens. Though, it was Ginny, who was standing next to the argument, smirking, that caught Harry’s attention. She looked over towards Harry and Sirius, noticed the package exchanging hands, and winked. Sirius continued, “I doubt Molly would approve – but I want you to use it if you need me, all right?”_

“ _OK,” said Harry, stowing the package away in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he knew he would never use whatever it was. It would not be he, Harry, who lured Sirius from his place of safety, no matter how foully Snape treated him in their forthcoming Occlumency classes._

Harry stared at Ginny a moment longer, before saying, “But, I…”

“Didn’t want to use it or get Sirius in trouble?” asked Ginny, anger still present. “If you’re right, he’s _already in trouble_! And if you won’t use it, then so help me I’ll have the others pin you down and I’ll get it myself!”

Slowly, reluctantly, Harry opened and reached into his bag, pulling out the still wrapped package. With his friends staring at him, he unwrapped it and out fell a small, square mirror. It was old and dirty, and he held it up to look into it.

“There’s writing on the back,” said Luna.

Turning it over, he saw she was right, there was a scribbled note from Sirius.

‘ _This is a two-way mirror, I’ve got the other one of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it..._ ’

Harry didn’t even bother to read the rest of it, turning the mirror back over and yelling “Sirius!” into it.

No one spoke. No one did anything but breath, and even that seemed suspended. Then…

“Harry? Is everything okay?” Sirius asked, his face appearing in the mirror.

~*~

_HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS_

“It’s a start,” said Harry quietly to Hermione and Ginny, both of whom were looking with him at the headline of the paper on the table. “Thank you. Both.”

The three of them looked over at Sirius, currently berating the newly reinstated Headmaster in his own office.

“Damnit, Dumbledore, this meeting goes nowhere without a proper apology!” said Sirius. “It should never have gotten this far!”

“He’s right, Albus,” said Moody gruffly from the corner. “You’ve always played things close, and I’ve always supported you. But it was too close this time.”

The Headmaster himself was sitting in his chair, behind his desk, looking at everyone in the room.

“Perhaps,” Professor Dumbledore admitted. “Harry, I owe you an explanation. An explanation of an old man’s mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young… and I seem to have forgotten, lately…”

And so, Professor Dumbledore began explaining – his placing of Harry with his relatives, his concern of Harry’s connection with Voldemort, his worry that Voldemort might figure out how to influence Harry, or worse, possess him and take Professor Dumbledore’s own secrets.

“So, you alienated a student, made him feel you no longer cared, and gave him to a man who would see him hurt to spite his father to teach him to protect himself,” snarked Sirius. “Brilliant, that was.”

“Now, Sirius, Severus will keep Harry alive, you know that,” admonished the headmaster.

“And the Dursleys would keep him safe! Albus, not everyone will do their best at everything!” shouted Sirius. “You need to get out of this tower from time to time. It’s wonderful that you want to see the best in people, to see everyone redeemed from the mistakes of their pasts, but not everyone will meet those expectations.”

“Once again, he’s right, Albus,” Moody rumbled.

“Hmmm,” replied Professor Dumbledore, pondering. “And once again, I forgot. Another old man’s mistake. Some wounds run too deep for healing.”

“So, before you continue your explanation – and you will continue – I’m letting you know you are no longer making decisions for Harry’s life. At least not alone,” said Sirius.

“Now, wait a minute,” said Professor Dumbledore.

“No,” said Sirius. “I’m his godfather. I may not be able to be so publicly, but you certainly have shown your inability to do so properly.”

The adults stared at each other for quite a few moments, neither blinking, before the professor finally nodded.

“Good,” said Sirius with an air of finality. “Now, continue.”

Next, Dumbledore retrieved his Pensieve, placed it on his desk, deposited a memory from his own head into it, and played for the room the prophesy. Moody stood a little straighter listening; Neville, Luna, and Ron listened intently from across the room, as did Harry, Ginny, and Hermione; even Sirius sat up.

“That was…” said Harry.

“Yes. Sybil Trelawny,” confirmed the headmaster. “One of the only true prophecies she ever gave.”

“And… the power? The one ‘he knows not’?” asked Harry.

“My boy, I thought that would be obvious,” said Dumbledore. He stared at Harry, meeting his eyes for several moments.

But it was others who figured it out, Ginny and Sirius stating simultaneously, “Love. It’s love.”

“So, what?” asked Harry. “Am I supposed to hug him to death?”

“No, my boy. You just need to be the loving, caring, selfless boy you’ve always been. Protect your friends, but lean on them, too. You do that, Harry, and Voldemort will never be able to fully anticipate what you will do. It’s that which he doesn’t understand.”

“What else is there, Albus?” demanded Sirius. “You’re not going to hang the fate of the world on a teenage boy, no matter what prophecy.”

“You are correct. But, now is not the time-”

“Albus,” growled Sirius.

“No, Sirius. Not now. Let me get my thoughts together, some plans. We will meet in a week – at your place. I will tell you what I can.”

~*~

“Explain,” was all Sirius said.

“Not yet,” said Mrs. Weasley. “My children leave first.”

The students in question didn’t even have time to protest before Harry immediately responded, “No.”

No one spoke. They all looked at Harry who, himself, appeared as shocked as any of them he said anything.

“Excuse me?” asked Mrs. Weasley. “I may not be able to override Sirius on you being here, but I can certainly keep my own children out of this. I don’t need them off looking for danger.”

“It’s not going to work,” said Harry, a little more sure this time. “I’m going to tell them anyway, unless you intend to keep us all apart, in the same house, and not send them back to school. And just being around me means trouble will find them, looking for it or not. Wouldn’t you rather they be here to learn what they can to stay safe? To ask questions and be a part of their own safety?”

Mrs. Weasley stared at him, her expression caught somewhere between pride and disbelief. It was clear when that her maternal instincts took over. Harry, however, was not the target.

“This is your fault, Black. This is what your influence does.”

“Actually,” said Sirius, a huge grin adorning his face, “I would say it’s Lily’s influence. But if you feel better blaming me, it’s blame I’m proud to take. He’s not wrong, though.”

The Weasley matron looked around the small gathering, Ron and Ginny sitting on either side of Harry, Hermione and Sirius on the outside. Opposite them were Dumbledore, Moody, Lupin, and herself. Arthur was at work. With Voldemort no longer hiding, he had many fires to put out to keep muggles safe.

Apparently resigning herself to the inevitable, she sat back down at the table and said, “Fine.”

“Good, that’s settled,” start the headmaster. “I promised you an explanation, so here is what I have:

“I believe that Voldemort has created an abomination of magic to stay alive, but I cannot prove it. All I have been able to find seems to point to it, but information on the magic itself is so scarce, I simply cannot be sure. But, if anyone has been able to figure it out, it would be Tom. This dark magic is called a Horcrux.”

There was a pause as he turned his gaze singly towards Ginny.

“I first became aware of the possibility, though unsure at that time of what it was, several years ago. The diary given to you, Miss Weasley, was, I believe, one such item.”

Ginny’s hand clamped down onto Harry’s causing him to ever so slightly wince.

“Wh… What is a Horcrux?” Ginny asked.

Professor Dumbledore looked at her apologetically before widening his view back to the group as a whole.

“A Horcrux is an object in which a Dark wizard has hidden a fragment of his soul for the purposes of attaining immortality,” he explained. He went on, “The soon-to-be container is prepared by dark magic to become the receptacle of a fragmented piece of soul. That piece of soul deliberately detached from the Master Soul is to anchor the Master Soul to life and to safeguard against death. As long as any part of a soul is still here, the soul as a whole cannot pass beyond.”

“And how is a soul split into fragments, sir?” asked Hermione.

“Murder,” mumbled Sirius.

“Indeed,” agreed Professor Dumbledore. “The act of taking another’s life, without a care for that life or its loss, is so heinous, the soul tears.”

Ginny still had not stopped clutching Harry’s hand, and he squeezed back as best he could, before stating, “You don’t think he only created the one.”

“No. Tom would never trust just one safeguard. He would put stock in arithmancy.”

“Two might work,” said Hermione. “But probably six. I doubt the soul would stand trying for twelve.”

“Correct, Miss Granger. Points to Gryffindor were school in session,” he smiled at her, to which she beamed in response. Some things were constant. “I believe he was attempting to split his soul into seven pieces, a magically powerful number. And I believe that, diary aside as his first, he was seeking out items of power and significance to use.”

“The Founders,” said Ginny. “He wants to be proven the greatest. He would have taken items of the founders, even of Merlin himself if he could find one, to assure his own life. Their marks on this world bent to his will.”

“That is my belief as well,” agreed the headmaster. “We must do what we can to find them, and then rob Voldemort of their surety.”

~*~

Harry sat in the chair, his elbows on the classroom desk in front of him, turning a large, plain ring adorned with black stone in his hands. Dumbledore had given it to him after the feast the first night of school. There was a symbol etched onto the onyx-black stone that Harry studied. According to the headmaster, it was the coat for the House Peverell. Several people in the room at the time had seemed to think that significant, somehow.

The story the professor told to them was that he had tried, on a hunch, to check Voldemort’s old, childhood house. He had taken Moody with him (though, at Moody’s snort, Harry was pretty sure Moody forced his way along, ignoring Dumbledore’s attempts to do the task himself) and between them, managed to undo some pretty powerful enchantments guarding the ring. He was also confident, given the lengths went to hide it, and the spells used to protect it, that it was a Horcrux.

Dumbledore had asked Harry to keep the ring in his bag – he agreed with Harry’s friends that, all things considered, it probably was one the safest places currently to keep the questionable artifact. Harry shrugged and nodded, taking the ring from the headmaster and dropping it into his bag. A variety of noises erupted from the bag as Harry quickly closed the flap, causing Moody to stare at the bag distrustfully, and the headmaster to merely raise an eyebrow in askance. The others were getting used to the bizarre noises in the bag and felt no real need to answer Dumbledore’s unasked question.

That had been several days ago, and now Harry was back at school, sitting in an out of the way classroom the group had picked so they had a place to discuss things unheard, like explaining to their friends who had helped avoid what could have been a catastrophic rescue attempt at the Ministry. There was something about the ring, but he didn’t know what. Voldemort picked it for a reason – that it was descended from the Peverell and, more importantly, Slytherin lines – but there was something about it that seemed… more.

Ginny slipped quietly into the room and sat next extremely closely next to Harry. That was something else he would have to figure out. Over the past several months (several years, if he were being honest, but he only really started noticing it this summer), he and Ginny had slowly, unobtrusively become closer. He had no idea what they were now – if they were boyfriend/girlfriend, or just merely on their way to – but they were definitely more than just friends, or even just family. He would have to talk to her about it. But, with the ring defying his attempts to understand it, that was a problem for later.

Leaning into him, ostensibly to get a closer look at the ring turning in his fingers, the warmth of her nearness seeped into him.

“You see it, too, don’t you?” he asked, not looking away from the black stone.

“Yeah. It’s… something. And I think he knows,” she replied.

“I’m pretty sure he does. But, Sirius and Moody have been on him like glue, so I really do think that if it were important, if we needed to know, he would tell us.”

“He has been much better about it, I’ll agree.”

She lay her head on his shoulder, and the pair kept staring at the ring, willing it to let them know what it was, why it fascinated them. Not looking away, they heard their friends from down the hall, coming towards the room, already in the middle of a conversation of their own.

“…had to take care of something for Professor Sprout, but he said he’d be along later,” came Hermione’s voice.

“That’s nice of him,” was Luna’s airy reply, just as they came into the room. She then stepped over, behind Ginny, and leaned into to, bending forward to look straight down over Harry’s head. “Oooooh, do you have the Death Stick, too?”

“Er… What?” asked Harry.

“The Death Stick. The Elder Wand. Crafted by Death Itself. I’m sure Mr. Ollivander could tell you all about it,” she answered happily.

“But, Luna, what does that have to do with the ring?” asked Ginny.

“The stone. That’s the sigil for the Deathly Hallows, like the story in Beetle the Bard. Daddy loves that stuff. But if that’s the Stone, and Harry already has a Cloak, I just thought it would be neat if he also had the Wand. Ah! I should see if the elves have enough dirigible plums for pudding!”

And with that, the blonde darted out of the room.

~*~

They all stood just inside the door, staring at the rows and rows of shelves filled with books, clothes, Zonko’s products, and other (what could only be classified as) junk.

“I could have sworn this was a lavatory,” mumbled the headmaster just as he began swishing his wand around. Eventually, the light of a spell of some sort lit up the tip, and a number of items littering the shelves in the nearby area started to glow in a variety of colors. “It seems this room has collected a good number of enchanted objects over the years.”

“Does that mean we have to search this whole place?” asked Harry.

“Not necessarily,” said Dumbledore. “Do you happen to have the diary in your bag there, Harry?”

“Er, uh, maybe?” said Harry, already opening the pack and rummaging through it, both arms reaching in up to his shoulders. “I don’t remember actually having taken it out for any reason.”

A couple moments later, he pulled out the diary of Tom Riddle and held it to the headmaster. In turn, the headmaster pointed his still glowing wand at diary and performed several more motions. The items in the immediate area returned to normal.

“Most of the Horcruxes we have taken so far were magical beyond Tom, but this was his first, and the enchantments were his alone. Though it is magically dead, I’m hoping there is enough residue left,” Dumbledore described to the group.

Flicking his wand, the glow shot off the end and flew down the hallway, a trail of light blues and sickly greens fading quickly in its wake. Without needing prompting, the group took off, following the trail before it vanished. At the end of their jog – which took a meandering, searching route up and down the various aisles – they found a blistered old cupboard, and on top of it, a pockmarked stone warlock wearing a dusty old wig and what looked like an ancient discolored tiara.

“It looks just like it!” exclaimed Luna.

“Indeed it does,” agreed the Headmaster.

“What now?” asked Ginny.

“Now,” said Dumbledore, “We give it to Harry.”

“To… what?” said Harry, a bit surprised.

“Harry, your friends were right, though they had no idea exactly how right they were,” explained Dumbledore. “Not trusting me was your decision to make, and as much as it saddens me, I have come to understand your reasons for doing so. (I do hope I have come to earn back at least some of that trust.) But you put the locket in your bag; and then you put the ring in. Harry, when we looked at them last, they were no longer Horcruxes.”

“What? But that’s-”

“Impossible, Miss Granger? Not hardly. No one – not Professor Flitwick, not Professor McGonagall, not even myself once I found out – took into account what type of magical objects Mr. Potter would be filling his bag with, nor how many. The magic _of_ the bag hasn’t really changed, but the magic _in_ the bag, well, that’s a different story.

“Harry, put the diadem into your bag.”

As he had with the previous artefacts, he opened his bag and, upon dropping it in, a rugby match sounded from inside, the opposing teams cats and snakes, and quite possibly officiated by mandrakes.

“Seriously, Harry, are you ever going to organize in there?” asked Hermione, slightly put out and clearly disconcerted.

“Haven’t needed to,” said Harry, shrugging.

Harry pulled the diadem back out of his bag and held it to Dumbledore who then moved his wand around the relic. After several moments of consideration, he finally nodded.

“Put it on, Harry!” said Ginny.

“Put it… on?” repeated Harry.

“I see no reason why not,” said Dumbledore. “It should be quite fine, now. And perhaps you will gain some insight to the final fragments Tom has buried away.”

His friends watched as Harry placed the crown upon his head. To Harry, it was as if his imagination worked overtime. He certainly didn’t feel any smarter, but he was noticing little things he hadn’t thought of before. He was able to make guesses that seemed to surpass the logical steps that Hermione would normally explain (ad nauseum).

He focused on the Horcruxes and realized what they would be doing to Tom – why he had looked as he had after the resurrection. Which meant…

“You knew!” he turned suddenly and accused the Headmaster.

“I feared, Harry,” said Dumbledore apologetically. “I desperately hoped I was wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

~*~

Once again sitting around the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place, the group of adults and students were attempting to figure out the last of the Horcruxes, as well as how to handle Harry’s revelation.

“That was your brilliant idea? Let Voldemort kill him?!” demanded Sirius.

“It was all I had at the time. It still is,” explained Dumbledore. “I’m certainly open to ideas.”

“So, Harry,” prompted Hermione, “You getting anything from the diadem?”

Harry shook his head. “That’s not how it works. It doesn’t give you knowledge. It… it makes you smarter, like the legends say, but by expanding how you think – better than the best of your ability. And I just don’t know enough to, well, think any further.

“We decided Tom is using artefacts of power, those he has a connection with: the diary was his first, so we’ll ignore that; the ring was his family’s, descended from Slytherin; the locket was Slytherin’s; the diadem Ravenclaw’s. If Hermione is right and there are six (for a total of seven intended parts), then there are two more. There are also two founders: Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

“It can’t be Gryffindor’s sword; it was covered in baslisk venom and killed the diary, which means if there was a Horcrux in it, there isn’t anymore.

“Which leaves Hufflepuff – or another powerful figure. But he would want something personal, so Hogwarts founders. Do we know what artefacts Hufflepuff left behind?”

“Quite possibly her Cup,” announced Dumbledore.

“A cup?” asked Ginny.

“Yes. Through various means, I have been doing my own research into what Tom could have used. I daresay my own experience and contacts are extensive. Tom learned of Helga Hufflepuff’s cup from the same person he learned of Slytherin’s locket, though I did not fully anticipate what it meant until recently.”

“Does the cup do anything? Like the diadem?” asked Hermione.

“It’s rumoured that it does, in fact, contain powers, but has not been tested,” he answered. “As an aside, the same was rumoured about the locket.”

“And the sword never dulls and absorbs that which makes it stronger,” said Harry. “The Sorting Hat was his, too, if I remember. Gryffindor fought for inclusion, the Hat speaks of unity. His artefacts mirror his skills and beliefs. It would make sense that the rest of the items ascribed to the founders would likewise have powers.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he realized the effects of the diadem on Harry. “Helga was renowned for her cooking, her recipes being the source of those used here at Hogwarts. Salazar was, of course, a Parselmouth, and his skill with Legilimency was unmatched. Does that help?”

“If the cup can make things for… and the locket, of course, the mind, and can speak… Yes!” he shouted after moment, causing his friends to jump. “I can do it!”

“Can do what, Harry?” asked Ginny, grabbing his arm. “What can you do?”

“I need the cup. The Horcrux in me, the stuff in my bag… I need the cup!”

“Where is it, Albus?” demanded Sirius.

It was actually Hermione who answered, “Based on the others, he either would have hidden it or given it to a follower to hide. If he hid it himself, then I doubt even Harry has enough information at this moment to divine its location. But if he gave it to a follower-”

“Bellatrix LeStrange,” Harry cut her off. “He gave it to Bellatrix LeStrange. She’s constantly announcing that she’s Tom’s most trusted follower. She _knows_ it. She has _proof_ of it.”

“He gave her the horcrux,” Sirius agreed with realization. “It would explain a lot.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “But where would she have put it?”

“For all of her fanaticism and zeal, my cousin is not a creative woman. She would hide it in a place she thought secure beyond any other means,” said Sirius.

“Gringotts,” whispered Ginny. She repeated herself more loudly when everyone looked at her. “The vaults at Gringotts are known as the best place to keeps things safe.”

“But, didn’t V-Voldemort break into Gringotts?” asked Ron.

“Wouldn’t matter to her,” said Ginny.

“She would see it as her Lord’s ability, and entirely proper,” agreed Harry.

“So, how do we get it?” asked Hermione.

“That might be the easiest solution so far,” said Sirius. “Kreacher!”

There was a weak cracking noise as the age-stooped elf appeared in the kitchen, glaring around at the guests. He had been more tolerable of late, but for an elf as old as he was, certain behaviors and beliefs did not simply vanish overnight.

“Kreacher,” Sirius addressed his elf. “Have Cousins Narcie or Bella ever asked you to retrieve something from their vaults?”

“Both of them have, yes,” confirmed the elf.

“Do you think they would have bothered to tell the Goblins that you were no longer allowed to retrieve things?”

“It is unlikely, Master Black. The Goblins would still allow Kreacher.”

“Kreacher, we have a job for you.”

~*~

“How are you, kiddo?”

Sirius was looking down at Harry, who in turn was a bit pale and sweaty from the procedure they had just performed – the one that he had realized while wearing the diadem could use their existing Founder’s Artefacts, along with several of the items in his bag, to remove the Horcrux in his scar. It was difficult, and not just a little painful, but it worked.

“I’m good, I think. Better than I look, I bet. Whole thing felt like manticores in my skull, but now that it’s over, I’m just plain knackered,” said Harry, managing a grin.

“Alright, you rest, nap, whatever, and come on down when you’re ready. We’ll be there for the next step,” said Sirius. “Ginny, you make sure his arse doesn’t leave this bed until he’s rested.”

Ginny was holding Harry’s hand tightly from the chair next to him (by loose definitions; she was practically on the mattress with him) and smirked at him, saying, “I bet I can keep him here for a while.”

A loud guffaw came from Sirius. “Do remember he needs rest, red,” and with a wink, he was out the door, which happened to close behind him.

“So, are you going to rest?” she asked, fully sliding onto the bed next to him.

“We’re so close, Ginny. They’re almost all gone. Then he’s vulnerable. Which means… it’s going to come down to me, Ginny, and I don’t know that I can match him.”

“Harry, we told you, your power to love is why he will never defeat you. Your power to love is why everyone will be there. It’s not going to be only you.”

“I-”

Harry was cut off by Ginny’s mouth when she full on snogged him. All thoughts of Voldemort and his Horcruxes flew from his mind, replaced entirely by Ginny, her scent, her feel. He’d wanted to kiss her for a while, now, but other things were always happening. This fight in shadows had been taking more and more of his attention.

But not now; Ginny had his full attention. He no longer wondered if she felt the same for him as he thought he might be feeling for her. He hadn’t asked her – he didn’t want to ruin their friendship, not right when he needed all his friends.

Her lips felt great. Her hair tickled his cheeks and ears. There was no other sound but their breathing. He wanted… wanted…

~ * ~

When Harry woke up, there was a pressure on his chest. Glancing down, Ginny was laying perpendicular across the bed, her head using him for a pillow while she stared up at him with her deep, brown eyes.

“Good evening,” she said. “Feel better?”

“I… yeah,” he said, realizing it was true. “I do.”

“Good. Sirius peeked in a little bit ago. Dinner is waiting, and everyone’s here.”

Harry started the process of sitting up, and Ginny pulled herself away to let him, even helping him.

“Ginny,” he started, “what-”

“Harry,” she interrupted, “For a while now, I’ve decided I’m falling for you, and I’m pretty sure you are for me. But like you said, we’re coming to a point where it might be too late to tell each other. So, I wanted you to know.”

“I…” Harry didn’t know what to say. “I… think I love you too.”

“Hold on to that, Harry,” said Ginny with more earnestness than he had ever hear from her, before she leaned over and kissed him once again.

It was short this time, though, and soon enough, they were up, straightened out, and making their way into the kitchen.

“Ah, wonderful. How are you feeling, Harry, my boy?” asked Dumbledore.

“Better,” Harry responded.

“Good. Good,” he said, smiling. “Please, have a seat, take some food.”

The couple sat at the table next to each other and spooned themselves some stew from the pot in the middle of the table. After they had each finished nearly half, the real conversation started.

“What’s left?” asked Neville, who, along with Luna, had been invited for dinner.

“If Harry was an accident, and Voldemort didn’t know about it, then there should be another,” said Hermione.

“I’ve thought about this,” said Harry. “When I tried out the Diadem, I realized two things – it took me while to understand _why_ I noticed them to begin with, I was kinda focused on other things. First, Voldemort’s soul fragment attached itself to me. Second, Scabbers lived a really long time for a common rat.”

Everyone stared at Harry, waiting for the grand reveal, but it was Luna who figured it out, “His snake!”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “Horcruxes can be living things, and he’s had Nagini for a very long time.”

“Yes, that would make sense,” said the headmaster. “We will need to eliminate the poor creature, she will not lightly allow us to try the same procedure we used on Harry. We also might not have time to do so if, as I guess, we will not see her until we face Tom.”

“I thought so, too,” agreed Harry.

“Then, and I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Hermione’s voice hitched slightly, “How do we face Tom?”

“We?” asked Harry.

“Yes. We,” stated Ginny. “I told you Harry, you are not going to face down Tom alone. We love you, and we are going to stand with you. And nothing, not my parents, not Voldemort himself, are going to keep me from your side when it happens.”

She glared a challenge at her parents. Her mother glared back, but even Harry could see it was fear and not anger behind those eyes, and her father lowered his head in recognition.

“I’ve spent much time keeping Tom from turning this country into a war zone. Luring him to the battlefield of our choice will not be difficult,” said Dumbledore.

Everyone around the table nodded to the headmaster first, and then to Harry. They were decided. They were doing this.

“In that case, Harry, I have one more artefact for you,” said Dumbledore.

He pulled out his wand and placed it in front of him on the table, eliciting a squeal of excitement from Luna.

“Your wand, sir?” asked Harry.

“This is not my wand, merely the one I have used for many years.” The headmaster pulled another wand out of his sleeve, explaining, “This is my wand.”

“The Wand of Destiny,” said an awestruck Luna.

“Indeed,” agreed Dumbledore. “I won this wand decades ago, and it has acknowledged me as its master ever since. My reasons for wanting to possess it are not selfless, though I would hope my reasons for continuing to use it are more so. Now, however, I will rejoin it with its brothers, the Cloak and Ring already in Harry’s possession. While they are, indeed, a power Tom knows, I hope with these artefacts at his side, Harry can finally end this.”

The proclamation was more mournful than Harry would have expected, but he understood. Tom would likely leave them no choice. _Neither can live while the other survives_. One of them would die, and Harry, looking at his friends, ready to face death at his side, knew it would not be him.

~*~

Voldemort and his Death Eaters were a mass of death. Their black robes waved in the breeze, and their masks hid any sense of individuality. They had come to destroy, and their numbers seemed limitless in the dark mass of oppression that threatened England and the whole world. Standing in front, surrounded by his followers, was Voldemort. His face, maskless, was pale and hairless, his eyes red over his skull-like nose. In his hand, his long, skeletal fingers held his yew wand. His careless grip, his very stance, all intimated his disdain for those who opposed him, and his certainty of victory.

The defenders of Hogwarts stood arrayed across from them in the courtyard. Students, teachers, Aurors, members of the Order of the Phoenix, anyone who showed up to fight the forces of Voldemort filled the yard back toward the school, wands at the ready, determination on their faces. Old and young, witches and wizards from all walks of life, dressed in robes, jeans, shirts, sports jackets, whatever they were wearing when they received the call, colored their ranks with the hues and styles of life.

And at their head, out in front, were Harry and Ginny. Ginny stood next to her beloved, her wand in one hand and Harry’s in the other. She wore his pack, being the only other living person in the world who was able to use it, and knowing deep in her soul that the leather bag had long since begun the journey of becoming a relic in its own right. Besides, according to her, it just looked absurd with the rest of Harry’s outfit.

Next to her, a force of Nature and Magic, facing off against Lord Voldemort, was Harry Potter. In his right hand, light glinting across its blade, rubies glittering, was the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, and the ring holding the Resurrection Stone adorned his middle finger. His left hand held the Wand of Death, power practically radiating from the magical stick. Around his neck was the locket of Salazar Slytherin, and the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff hung by a rope from his belt. Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem crowned his brow, lending him an air of royalty to his impression of power. And over his shoulders, spread like a cape, was the Cloak of Invisibility. It was opened, and the hood back, so it didn’t hide him, but its wavering in the breeze created a diaphanous ephmerality to his entire countenance.

Harry lifted his sword, ready to lead the charge against the greatest evil of their time. The breeze carried the silence and anticipation across the courtyard, waiting for a signal to attack. Everything was still, waiting in that single moment, like a scene from painting.

~*~

“And that’s the portrait of Harry Potter, one of the greatest Wizards of his time, his name up there with Merlin and Morgana, the Founders, and even more well-known and respected than Dumbledore and Flammel. And of course, next to him is his wife, Ginevra ‘Ginny’ Potter. Together, their voices changed magical society and brought it into the modern age.”

“That’s Tom Riddle – Voldemort – they’re fighting, right?” asked a small boy, his eyes wide.

“Yes, it is. This painting is a rendition of the end of Voldemort’s second rise to power. Consequently, the very short battle was also considered Harry Potter’s rise to greatness.”

“And this,” asked a little girl, no more than ten. “This is Potter’s Pack?”

She pointed to a well-worn, leather rucksack, sat on a pillar. There was no rope around the pillar, and nothing covering the bag itself.

“Couldn’t anyone just walk off with it?” the girl asked.

“Anyone who’s tried has met with varying degrees of catastrophe before even getting out of the castle. Not that it would do them any good. The bag has remained steadfastly locked these many centuries. But, since Ginny Potter was also able to open the bag, many great researchers have figured that somewhere, some time, someone else will be able to open the bag and carry on Potter’s great legacy, when the time is right.

“And so, for now, it sits here, in the Great Entry Hall of Hogwarts, where, during the school year, school children from around all around Britain try to open it, hoping they will be the ones to access the treasures inside, becoming the next, great heroes of the world. And, during the summers, groups such as yours come from around the world to see it. And, of course, try their own hands at it. Adult or child, man or woman, wizard or muggle, it doesn’t matter. Harry Potter believed in the greatness and goodness of everyone, and, so, everyone is welcome to try.”

The tour group began to slowly converge on the pillar. The little girl who had been standing there, asking questions, was closest, and reached up to the lock.


End file.
